UNFINISHED BUSINESS

As I sat across from Isabella, her infectious smile and confident demeanor immediately put me at ease. She radiated a charm that was hard to ignore, and before I knew it, we were lost in conversation.

“I have to admit,” she began, leaning forward slightly, “I didn’t expect the infamous Mrs. Argento to be so... approachable.”

I laughed softly, twirling the stem of my glass between my fingers. “I don’t know what rumors you’ve heard, but I assure you, I’m as ordinary as they come.”

“Ordinary?” she repeated with a raised brow. “You’re married to Silvio Argento. There’s nothing ordinary about that.”

Her words carried a weight of intrigue, but her tone was playful. I shrugged, a smile tugging at my lips. “I suppose not. But trust me, I didn’t exactly plan for this life.”

“That makes two of us,” she said cryptically, her gaze distant for a moment before snapping back to mine. “So, how do you like it so far? Being a part of this world?”

I hesitated, the question striking a nerve. “It’s... complicated. There are moments I feel like I’m drowning, and then there are others, like tonight, where I feel like I can finally breathe again.”

Her expression softened. “That’s fair. You seem to handle it well, though. Strong, composed... and that dress—absolutely stunning, by the way—only adds to the image.”

I laughed, the compliment catching me off guard. “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself, you know. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were royalty.”

Her laugh was light and melodic, filling the air between us. “Far from it, trust me. But I’ll take the compliment.”

We continued talking, the topics shifting effortlessly from fashion to travel to our favorite childhood memories. Isabella had a way of making every story sound fascinating, and I found myself drawn to her warmth and quick wit.

“You’ve been to Florence?” I asked, leaning forward eagerly.

“Once, years ago,” she said with a wistful smile. “The art, the architecture, the food—it was unforgettable. You should visit if you ever get the chance.”

“I’d love to,” I admitted. “Italy is beautiful, but I haven’t seen nearly as much of it as I’d like.”

“Maybe we can go together someday,” she offered, her eyes sparkling.

I smiled at the thought. “I’d like that.”

Just as she was about to share another story, the familiar presence of Silvio sent a ripple of awareness through me. I turned to see him approaching, his imposing figure cutting through the crowd like a predator stalking its prey.

“Mrs. Argento,” he greeted, his voice low and smooth. His eyes flicked to Isabella, assessing her in an instant. “And you are?”

“This is Isabella,” I said, rising from my seat. “She’s been keeping me company while you disappeared on ‘business.’” There was a teasing edge to my tone, though I couldn’t hide the warmth that lingered from my conversation with her.

Silvio’s gaze didn’t waver as he extended a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Isabella.”

“Likewise, Mr. Argento,” she replied, her tone polite but not intimidated.

There was a brief silence, the air between them charged, before I broke it. “Isabella, you should come by the estate sometime. It would be nice to continue our conversation.”

Her smile returned, genuine and radiant. “I’d love that. Thank you for the invitation.”

Silvio’s brow lifted slightly, his expression unreadable, but he said nothing as Isabella excused herself.

“She seems... interesting,” he remarked, his tone carefully neutral.

“She’s kind,” I said firmly, watching her retreating figure. “And it’s rare to find that in our world.”

Silvio’s eyes softened, just for a moment. “If you trust her, so will I.”

The words surprised me, and I turned to look at him fully, wondering if there was more to his statement than he was letting on.

As soon as we stepped out from the hall, Silvio lifted me and pressed me against the wall, his lips trailing down my neck. A surprised moan slipped through my lips, my eyes widening at the sudden intimacy.

“It’s the dress... the darn dress,” he murmured between kisses. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as his grip on my hips tightened. He left my neck and looked into my eyes, his own dark and intense.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever set my eyes on,” he said, voice low and rough.

A chuckle escaped my lips, surprised at his unusual display of affection. “Is that so?” I teased.

“Absolutely positive, Mrs. Argento.” And then his lips crashed onto mine. The rhythm of his kisses was intoxicating, leaving me breathless and yearning for more. It felt as indulgent as savoring a rich chocolate dessert after a lavish dinner.

He tasted of expensive wine and something else I couldn’t quite place, an addictive flavor that made me lose myself in him. His lips left mine to return to my neck, his teeth softly grazing my skin. My hands tangled in his thick hair, tugging when the intensity heightened.

“Boss,” Leonardo’s voice called out from behind us, breaking the spell.

Silvio sighed, his forehead resting against mine in frustration. “I’m busy, Leonardo,” he said, his lips finding my neck again in defiance of the interruption.

“It’s your speech, boss,” Leonardo reminded him.

“Fuck,” Silvio muttered under his breath. He pulled away slightly, his hands gently cradling my face as he pressed his forehead to mine again.

“You are remarkable,” he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. “I want to see you at home.”

I couldn’t find the words to respond, so I only nodded, staring up at him in awe.

“We have unfinished business,” he added with a mischievous smirk before turning to leave with Leonardo.

Martina’s POV

The drive back to the estate was a swirl of emotions I couldn’t quite name. Barely a month into my marriage, I found myself unable to stop thinking about Silvio—the man whose name was whispered in fear, the man accused of murdering every lover he’d ever had. And yet, he brought life to a part of me I didn’t even know still existed.

It felt like magic, a spell I couldn’t break. How could a man rumored to be a beast be so gentle?

Growing up, I’d heard countless horrors about the Argento family. They were synonymous with cruelty, towering crime rates, and mass killings. Their empire laundered billions in arms and ammunition, leaving devastation in its wake.

At the peak of it all stood Silvio Argento—the man feared by every rival in Italy. And now, here I was, sitting in his car, waiting for him to return and finish whatever business he had started with me.

I may have been caught up in this storm, but I wasn’t stupid. Being born into a mafia household meant I understood the rules of this game. I knew how to work knives like a professional and recognize the subtle cues of danger. My father, Don Moretti, made sure his children were no weaklings.

Serafina, however, was an exception. She was the last-born and, in my father’s eyes, the weakest. He loathed her. I could never understand how a man could hate his own child so deeply, but perhaps that’s why Serafina always felt so fragile.

When I pushed open the door to our bedroom, the sight before me froze me in my tracks.

A severed head lay on the floor in a pool of blood, its lifeless eyes staring up at me.

A scream ripped from my throat, echoing through the estate. The rancid stench of death filled the room, and bile rose to the back of my throat.

At my cry, several of Silvio’s men stormed into the room, their guns drawn. They froze momentarily at the grotesque scene, their expressions as stunned as mine.

One of them quickly grabbed my arm, leading me out of the room while the others began a perimeter sweep. My hands trembled, but I forced myself to steady my breathing. I was shaken, but I wasn’t about to let fear take over.

Four of Silvio’s men surrounded me as another placed a call to their boss. The grim tension in the room was suffocating. When the men who had searched the estate returned empty-handed, their anxious expressions drained all the blood from my face.

“No one new was seen entering or leaving the estate,” one of them reported, his voice strained. “And the security cameras didn’t pick up anything unusual.”

How was that even possible?

At the Don Moretti Estate

Antonio’s POV

The moment we returned from the banquet, I rushed Serafina into the underground vault hidden beneath the kitchen. It was a procedure—something drilled into me since I turned ten.

The house was under attack. My only priority was protecting my little sister. No one else mattered.

With Serafina safely tucked away, I crept through the halls, my father’s men following silently at my signal. I gestured for them to split up, covering as much ground as possible, while I headed toward the main hall.

We found nothing.

After combing through the estate twice to confirm the coast was clear, I reported back to my father and returned to retrieve Serafina.

I led her back to her room and opened the door, but what awaited us inside left my jaw hanging.

Serafina’s scream pierced the air as I quickly pulled her back, shielding her from the grisly sight.

On her bed lay a mutilated body. The severed forearms and feet were arranged grotesquely, with a message scrawled across the blood-soaked sheets:

“Only a little longer.”

My blood turned cold as Serafina clung to me, her cries muffled against my chest. This wasn’t just a threat—it was a promise. Whoever this was, they weren’t done yet.

Martina's POV

“What do you mean there is no sign of the intruder?” Silvio asked his men, a murderous intent flashing in his eyes.

“You are my men—trained soldiers of this organization—and yet all fifteen of you let a full-grown human being escape!” His voice was sharp, dangerous, as he toyed with the daggers in his hands.

The rhythmic flicking of the weapon sent a chill down my spine, stirring memories of the rumors I’d heard growing up about the Argentos and how they punished their staff. Watching him now only quickened my resolve to remain silent and still.

One of the men stepped forward cautiously. “Boss,” he began, his tone respectful but firm. When Silvio gave no response, the man continued, “Eight of us stood guard at the entrance to the estate, and seven remained stationed inside the mansion. Nothing slipped past any of us. You can review the footage. None of my men moved an inch, and nothing suspicious took place. Sir, I believe we are no longer dealing with just any ordinary enemy.”

Silvio’s jaw tightened, the hard line of it revealing more about his inner turmoil than I think he intended. It was clear that he believed his men, but the unanswered question hung heavily in the air: Who could have done this? And why?

“Listen up, men,” Silvio said, his voice colder now, “she is your new priority. Everything else comes second.”

My eyes widened as several pairs of eyes turned toward me. I suddenly felt small under their collective scrutiny, sitting so close to Silvio.

“But sir, if—” one of the men began to protest.

He never got to finish. Silvio’s dagger flew through the air and lodged itself into the man’s shoulder.

The soldier grunted in pain but gave a slow nod, acknowledging his error and Silvio’s command.

“She is your problem now,” Silvio reiterated, his tone like steel. “Nothing must harm her. You will ensure she is protected every step of the way.” He delivered his final words with a piercing glare, meeting the eyes of each man before dismissing them.

“Dismissed.”

The men filed out in orderly fashion, their footsteps echoing in the tense silence. As the door closed behind them, a buzzing sound from my clutch drew my attention. I reached for it and answered the call, my heart sinking at the sound of a terrified voice on the other end of the line.

“Martina?” Silvio’s voice cut through the haze, sensing my sudden agitation. He stepped closer, his gaze searching my face.

When the line went dead, I turned to him, my fingers trembling as I lowered the phone.

“It didn’t just happen here,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “There are no traces, no evidence of human presence anywhere. It’s as if…” My words faltered, my fear speaking louder than my logic.

This was unlike anything I’d ever encountered before.